Identity
by Brackets
Summary: A child's mind in isolation turns only to itself, but Harry discovers there another person. He enters the mind of the man who had made the world quail, and out of this rises a prodigy unlike no other. Dark!Harry No Pairings! Voldemort/Harry friendship
1. Delving

Identity

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_Identity- Chapter One_

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter in any form or way. I make no money from writing this fanfiction.

**Summary:** Harry, from a young age, had always been locked away. A child's mind in isolation turns only to itself, and what Harry discovers there is a bond neither he nor Voldemort had known to exist. Entering the mind of the man who had made the world quail, he begins to draw upon the Dark Lord's memories, and starts to emerge as something quite new altogether...

**Includes:** Dark!Harry, Voldemort and Harry friendship, prodigy!Harry

**Genre:** General / Friendship

**Word Count:** ~6,700 / ~7,000

**Cumulative Word Count:** ~6,700 / ~7,000

**Date: **Started- 4th February, '09

Finished- 27th March, '09

Posted- 28th March, '09

**Chapter Title:** Delving

* * *

The child opened his eyes, and just _stared _at it. Lost himself in it. That all-embracing, encompassing darkness... For now, it protected him. When there was nothing there but the darkness, he was safe.

He gave a small sigh as he felt a spider crawl across his leg. Tomorrow, the light would come again, and _they _would come. They hurt him. They hated him.

He stared into the very heart of darkness, and tried not to think of what the light would bring. In a way, at night he was free- there was no Dudley, to laugh at him and be showered in love for his cruelty, no Uncle Vernon... to turn those disgusted eyes to him.

Yes, here in the darkness he was free... despite the padlock on his cupboard door.

He hadn't been aware he'd closed his eyes, but they snapped open when he heard the familiar creak of the upstairs landing. Instantly, light flooded his vision and his breath caught as he realised what it meant; He'd fallen asleep. Around him, the dim wood of his cupboard suffocated him, cast with a pale light streaming through the cracks in the door. In the corner, out of his reach, were the familiar cobwebs he hadn't dared touch, and below him he sat on a scraggly, thin blanket that scraped against his bare arms.

Upstairs, the doorknob rattled and the door swung softly against the carpet. Steps continued across the upstairs landing, and judging by the lighter creaks it was Aunt Petunia. Harry listened to the familiar and dreadful sounds from upstairs, pulling his legs towards his chest, fearing the inevitable. The second stair up from the ground made a heavy slamming sound as it was pressed; As always, Aunt Petunia walked on the left of the staircase, while his uncle walked on the right and made that stair creak pitifully under his strain. Harry curled up tighter as his aunt approached.

There was a sharp snap as his bolt was pulled back, and an ominous clank as the padlock was opened. Harry quickly clenched his eyes shut as the door was heavily yanked open, rattling flimsily.

Light streamed in, painful even behind closed eyelids, and his aunt grabbed him roughly by the arm and tore him from his cupboard. He lost his balance, but was pulled upwards painfully by his slender arm so he couldn't splay on the floor. His aunt towered over him angrily, then pushed him into the kitchen.

"Bacon!" she screeched haughtily, and the pathetically frail-looking child below her scrambled to do her bidding. Before he was out of her reach, she kicked maliciously at him and he yelped as he scurried out of her way. When she was satisfied that the child was going to do the task adequately, she moved to the living room to relax and watch the breakfast news, leaving the five year old to serve her breakfast.

Harry despondently followed his aunt's request, using a stool to be able to cook over counter-height, and when he was just about done, adding the eggs to the plates, he heard his uncle stomp down the stairs, shortly followed by his cousin. The television flickered off, and his aunt stiffly instructed him in what chores needed doing.

He left as quickly as he could to weed the garden, eager to avoid his uncle and cousin, and settled down to rip the life away from the weeds. He had no doubt the Dursleys wanted the same for him.

Some days, he could just accept his life. Other days, he longed to escape. Yearned to be anywhere but where he was. He'd read some of Dudley's books from when the fat boy was fed up with them, and for a while he had been pulled into a different world- a carefree world, one where his uncle was nowhere in sight. Of course, when his family had discovered he was hoarding these books, they were furious. He'd gotten the worst beating for a long time, that night, and he'd never dared touch another of his cousin's things again.

He'd deserved it. He really should have known better. He'd never do it again.

* * *

He was harshly shoved back into his cupboard by the time they'd finished with him for the day, and the bolt and padlock were secured quickly, as if he'd escape if they were slower. He sighed in relief when they left him, and curled up like he could comfort himself if he was hugging his knees.

For a while, he just listened until all three Dursleys had disappeared, and only then did he allow himself to relax slightly, slipping into his thoughts.

He could use his imagination to get away, couldn't he? He scrunched his eyes closed tightly, and pictured what the world would be like outside of Privet Drive. He'd seen trees, all over the place. They were supposed to make the neighbourhood look nice. He pictured... a forest. What would it be like in a forest? There would be _lots _of trees. All packed tightly together. And the ground would be like mush under his feet as he pawed his way across it. It had been raining recently, so there was a biting damp chill in the air, and it was hard to avoid the last drops that fell from the trees without getting his fur wet.

Harry marveled at his little fantasy. What was he, some small animal? Bushes towered over him as he ran through the forest, not without caution. When there was the crunch of twigs in the distance, Harry almost leapt out of his skin. He quickly ran up the nearest tree, using his small sharp claws to circle up the wooden trunk.

Ah- Harry recognised what he was now! A squirrel! He'd seen them running through the garden and up and down the trees sometimes. It was quite fun to run about like this.

When he saw the squirrel had stopped, and was observing the forest floor, scanning for predators, he frowned. This was supposed to be his daydream, wasn't it? The squirrel should be more interesting. There wouldn't be any nasty big animals to hurt him, so why was he imagining this? He willed the squirrel to start running around again, but nothing happened. He watched as he, as the squirrel, was finally satisfied that the coast was clear, and once again began moving.

Harry tried to turn right, but he just kept on going forwards. He huffed when he saw that he couldn't get his _own _daydream to do what he wanted, and concentrated harder on controlling the small mammal. Turn right. Turn right!

...What? Why would he want to turn right? He'd stashed all his food in the same tree he was headed for. He needed to get back, he'd been driven away by that damned fox again!

No. He _did _want the creature to turn right. It _would_ turn right. This was _his _imagination, after all. If he couldn't control that, what could he control?

_Why _did he seem to want to turn right so much? It was pointless! No- he wanted to turn right. Why? Turn right. What for?

Harry watched in elation as he glanced to the side, as if to see if there was something there, beyond the trees.

That's right. Give in.

He didn't see why he did it, but... he wanted to turn right. It was... something he really wanted. He _needed _to turn right.

Hesitantly, the squirrel stopped running, and turned to the side, peering uncertainly into the fading light beyond. He felt a surge of elation as he did so, though, and relished in it. Finally! He had turned! ...Why was he so happy about it?

The bushy-tailed creature got another strange impulse; He suddenly wanted to chase his own tail. What!? Why? This was stupid.

It wasn't stupid! Harry wondered why he kept feeling so opposed to doing what he wanted. He'd just wanted to have some fun, prove that he could make the creature do what he wanted.

While Harry was distracted, the squirrel seemed to mentally shake itself, and before he could try to stop it again, it had taken off once more, in the correct direction. He couldn't blame it, though, it was just trying to keep its food safe.

Wait, where'd _that _come from? Harry opened his eyes and pulled himself away from his fantasy about the squirrel. That had been weird. But fun.

The child smiled at the picture he'd managed to create. Maybe he'd finally found his escape. It was a strange one, and it didn't seem to want to do what he wanted, but it was good nonetheless. Next night, he'd think of the same thing.

* * *

Once again, Harry awoke to the shrieks of his favourite aunt, who ordered something new this day for breakfast. He wasn't quite as lucky as the last day, though, because it was something he didn't know how to make. He'd been following the cookbook instructions as best as he could, but he'd accidentally burnt the sausages too much, and Uncle Vernon wasn't happy.

He'd been yelled at, and the blow to his head had knocked him over. He was dizzy for a while, not quite as quick with his chores as he should have been. Later in the day his uncle had slapped him for his incompetence, and he'd been locked up again for the night.

* * *

Back in the sanctuary of his cupboard, he curled up once again, and concentrated on the forest, and the squirrel.

This time, it was a little less cold and there were no foxes around, so he was happily out scavenging for things to eat. Harry just watched this time, fascinated- Aha! He'd found a hazelnut. It was funny how tastes change with different animals, he thought as he dug into the delicious nut; He'd always used to dislike nuts before.

Had he? Harry couldn't so much as remember _trying _one...

Lucius had been mortified, once, when he served him a pudding absolutely _drenched _in them. Knowing him, he had probably castrated his house elf for it afterwards.

Harry chuckled at this thought, and then immediately wondered why. Who was Lucius? What on earth was a house elf?

What? Why was he thinking that? They were insignificant servants... Why was he answering himself? The squirrel shook its head slightly and continued to search the ground. Hm. Maybe he could use up all of his food again, and give that damned fox what-for? It certainly deserved it, even if it _was_ more effort to find food as a fox. He'd only been a fox a few times, too.

Er... Harry wasn't even sure what he was thinking about any more. Wait... is this what squirrels thought like? Were these random things he kept thinking about actually the squirrel's thoughts?

He sighed. He wanted a bath sometimes, he really did. Wait... was that the squirrel again? The _squirrel _wanted a bath? He frowned, perplexed. Of _course_ he wanted a bath, he'd been stuck as a various animals for _far _too long, now.

Looking up at the sky, he decided it was getting too dark now. Wearily, he scampered back up his tree, and snuggled into the hollow, twisting to get comfortable. They'd all regret it, someday. The next time they crossed Lord Voldemort, they'd rue whatever trick that brat was! Dumbledore would die! Damn that old man!

Harry decided to leave his imagination-animal's thoughts alone. That squirrel seriously had issues. Trust _him _to come up with a furry critter who was hell-bent on taking over the world.

He did _not _have issues! He was the most feared wizard of the century! ...A wizard? The squirrel thought it was a wizard. He laughed at the idea of it, and the squirrel clucked in amusement too, before forcibly stopping itself.

He frowned as the squirrel tried to go to sleep, once again willing it to get up and do something interesting. This _was _interesting! If he didn't get enough sleep he might miss some food, or get caught by a cat or something...

Harry frowned. Once again, it was his daydream, so it should do what he wanted it to. Unknowingly, he pressed past more mental barriers as he forced his will onto the creature. Run around! Get up!

Harry lifted his head from the hollow, and was thrilled as he could feel every inch of the squirrel as himself. Tentatively, he clung onto the bark outside and tried to move. It was a wonderful feeling when he found he could do it naturally, and he was soon able to run around the tree, up and down.

He kept feeling reluctance and confusion as he did so, and concentrated on these feelings. What were they, exactly? He pressed further into the animal's mind.

Why was he up and running about like a lunatic? What was he doing? Harry instantly handed the reigns back to the squirrel, listening to its thoughts intently.

Ah! That was better. He didn't know why he'd started running about before. This was all getting weird. Perhaps he didn't have quite as much control over the animal he was inhabiting than he thought?

Harry observed silently as the squirrel returned to its sleeping place, and curiously pushed past even more mental barriers. What was the squirrel?

Lord Voldemort. He pushed in further. That was his name, wasn't it? Why was he here? Felled by a prophecy. An accident. A baby. He remembered...

Harry left the squirrel as he plunged into its memories. The earlier years had faded, somewhat, but they were still there, he was unable to forget.

The other orphans didn't like him. To them, he was a freak. Unnatural. Some of the older kids would beat him up, and that's when he discovered it: _magic. _He could get his own-back on them. For once in his life he was _powerful. _He hurt them, and it felt good.

That look in Alexander Robinson's face as he looked up at him from the floor... a look of fear. His eyes were wide as he gasped for breath, he silently begged him to stop... Which only made him smirk. Now, _he _was the one in control. It felt wonderful.

Harry sunk deeper into the earliest memories of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Slowly, he started to learn life as Riddle had, from the bottom upwards. Maybe _he _could make his family cower like that? No... it was all make-believe. The squirrel didn't even exist. He'd never be the one in power, would he?

* * *

The next morning, Harry met his aunt with a silent indifference. As she wrenched him out of the cupboard, he glared at her. He could have better than this, couldn't he?

How had he done it back in the orphanage? No... he'd never been there. If he tried to make her feel pain, it wouldn't work because all of his memories from the orphanage weren't real.

...But he _wanted _to make her feel pain. He wanted to make her suffer for all she'd done. He was still glaring when she turned back to him and gave him the look of a bug under her shoe. He'd known that look all too well.

"What are you looking like that for, you little freak? Toast!" When Harry didn't move straight away, still with the defiant glare etched on his face, his aunt slapped him so hard he almost toppled over, hand clutched to his face to ease the pain.

"Toast!" the woman repeated. Scathingly, Harry complied. Toast, at least, was an easy one. They didn't have a toaster, but years of practice had made him adept at fine-tuning the grill so he hardly ever went so wrong that he couldn't just scrape off the charred bits with a knife.

At the orphanage, they cooked the meals _for_ them. There wasn't much to go around, but it was _way _more than Harry got. He was lucky if his family tossed him some scraps at the end of the day.

No... he should be thankful to them. They had taken his ungrateful self in, and were kind enough to feed him, to house him, to clothe him. He would have had it much worse off if he was elsewhere.

Would he? The orphanage wasn't that bad, except he hated all the other children there. They were better than the Dursleys. Only the bigger boys beat him up, and they were usually busy...

When he was done with the toast, he scurried away to do his other tasks. Today, he got to dust the living room, while Dudley went to school. Dudley was in year one, and Harry might have been, too, but his aunt said it was a waste of time for him.

Once again, at the end of the day, he was locked up in his cupboard.

* * *

When he returned to the squirrel, he went straight back to its memories, continuing where he'd left off. Now, as he got older, he could control his powers a little more. He found that when he was really angry, he could make other people's eyes sting a little when he looked at them for too long. It was not as good as what he'd done to Alexander the first time, but he was getting better with it. He wondered what else he could achieve with his powers... where did they stop? _Could _they stop?

Harry watched in awe as he learnt to read, not just the picture books but things with several sentences, and eventually even more. The letters got smaller, but he could read it just as well.

Their teacher had beamed at him- she'd told him that he was a very intelligent boy. And Harry knew it to be true. He was _far _ahead of all his classmates, who were all despicable scum in his eyes. His handwriting was beginning to look nice, with 'S's that were the right way around, and nicely-looped letters.

And his powers were still growing. By the time he was eight, he could narrow his eyes and squeeze his fist when he was angry, and his victim would start to find it hard to breathe. All the children avoided him now, and the beatings got worse, although less frequent. The other children were all beginning to be scared of him. Good! Let them cower!

* * *

Harry stood out of sight at breakfast, not making the beds as he was supposed to. Instead, he was intently watching his family – the fat gluttons – as they gorged themselves on the meal Harry had made himself.

Nervously, he stretched his hand out in front of him, as he had done many times before... No, he'd never done this. His breath caught in anticipation as he slowly began to clench his fist...

There was nothing. He let out a shaky breath. Magic didn't exist.

No... he fixed his eyes on his cousin, and thought of how much he hated him. Dudley got the toys. Dudley got the praise. _Dudley_ got to go to school. _Dudley _got the attention. _Dudley _got the love, while Harry got to be locked up in a cupboard, a slave to them.

He clenched his hand with all the fury he could muster, and squeezed so hard that his nails dug into his palms, close to drawing blood. His hand shook with the strain, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed with the hate and fury he felt, he snarled. And then...

His eyes widened as he watched his cousin crumple over, onto his plate, choking and wheezing hard, gasping for breath. When he lost his composure, the boy seemed to recover greatly, but the damage had been done. He'd made his cousin feel his hate. He'd been the one to hurt _him._

His aunt and uncle had gotten up to worry over their child, and Harry gasped when he saw Uncle Vernon raise his head to look about suspiciously. His eyes flicked over to Harry, who was still half-hidden by the wall, and Harry's stomach plunged when the man's face purpled.

Yelping, he tore away from the room as fast as he could, but he knew he wouldn't be able to escape for long. He'd _never _seen his uncle this angry. Harry could only hope he'd be able to make it out of this one alive.

* * *

The whimpering child was thrown bodily into the dark cupboard, and the door was locked and bolted, although he couldn't move to escape if he tried.

Through the door was the furious voice of his uncle- "You won't be getting out of there for a _long _time,boy! I won't have any more your freakishness in my family! If I deign to let you out, nothing freaky will ever happen again, you hear me!? _Never _touch your cousin again!"

Harry could only sob quietly as the pain strangled him. He couldn't move from where he lay, his arm wouldn't move and his head throbbed so much he was sure he'd black out if he tried anything.

And once again, he tried to forget about his own life. Did that mean that he _did _have powers? He was in this position for it, but... He'd gotten revenge on Dudley. It had been worth it, to see him choke and wheeze and splutter.

He smiled a little, before slipping back away to the squirrel, and into its memories.

As he was getting older, the memories were becoming sharper and more distinguished. Now nine years old, he remembered learning about plants, and about the weather, how the world worked. But he'd never been able to fit his magic into it. How did it work? It was an amazing skill, but others didn't seem to be able to do what he could do, so he never told them about it.

It was taking longer and longer to go over memories as he got older, but Harry didn't mind, he watched all the new, more detailed memories with awe.

His powers had progressed so much that he could glare, just thinking about how much he hated them, and people would wince in pain. Harry wasn't going to try anything again, but it was fascinating to know he could do it. Maybe some day, he'd get actual revenge on his family, without being badly beaten up again. Maybe he could make his family leave him alone like most of the children did for him at the orphanage.

He used to steal the others' toys, and keep them for himself, but he got found out a few times, so he had to figure out how to do it a little more discreetly. For the most part, he had all the adults wrapped around his finger. No matter how much evidence they had, Tom would always be the perfect, lovable angel, because that's what he wanted them to think. The children, though, had started to despise him.

Tom Marvolo Riddle. That was his name. He'd never liked it. It was a stupid, _normal _name, just like everyone else's. But, it was better than being Harry, wasn't it?

He just lay there for as long as he could, falling in and out of sleep between the crippling pain he was in, and the vivid world of his imagination, learning everything Tom had once learnt, ignoring his hunger in favour of focusing on the rapid amount of new knowledge he was gaining.

When he hit eleven, things _really _began to get interesting. Come summer, he had an unexpected visitor.

Albus Dumbledore; A man who claimed to be a wizard, who taught other wizards like himself. He'd already accepted that magic existed- he controlled it himself, after all- but when the man had set his wardrobe on fire, it had _really _widened his eyes to the possibilities. And finally! There were more of him! Not those stupid, weak children he was forced to live with! He was so excited, and the man had been telling him about accidental magic, so he let it slip that he'd already started controlling his magic- to hurt people. Harry winced when the thought of this. Not the best idea, evidently, because Dumbledore had given him an alarmed and then wary look, and from that point on would always keep an eye on him. He'd only wanted to make the man proud... to gain a little recognition for his abilities...

Later, he'd been taken to Diagon Alley, a part of London exclusively for wizards. He'd gained a powerful wand- so said the shop keeper, Ollivander- and a whole hoard of books that were full to the brim with new knowledge for him to devour! And he did so, over the holidays. He read every single one of them, so he could go to Hogwarts prepared.

Harry's mind swam with everything he took in, as did Tom's. The memories were slowly improving in clarity, from scarce, muddled scenes to remembered, exited nights of many hours of reading and intense study, being surprised at all the things there were for him in this new world.

He'd read about blood-status, and muggle-borns, and it worried him. He came from an orphanage... He certainly wasn't a pure-blood, but what could he do about it? The pure-bloods had all the power, if he said he was one of the filthy muggle-borns, he'd never be accepted, always looked down upon... He'd just have to lie.

So, when the time came for him to actually go to Hogwarts, he was completely prepared. The sights were wonderful and breathtaking, and he was filled with an immense pleasure at these new opportunities. When he saw the castle for the first time ever, it was stunning. He knew that he'd always love the castle as a home, from that point on. It was much better than the orphanage!

He was nervous at his sorting, but the hat placed him in Slytherin, commenting on his ambitious nature- he was going to become the most powerful wizard of all time!- and his ruthlessness and cunning. He felt a blissful sense of self-pride at all this.

His plan of announcing himself as a pureblood failed at the introductions, though; The boys immediately commented on how his name wasn't pureblood, before he could say anything more about himself. He wondered how they could be so sure of themselves, but didn't press the matter further, not saying whether he _was _one or not in order to not embarrass himself. They all seemed disdainful of him, though, just as he feared.

Harry spent the next few days experiencing his first year of Hogwarts. They learnt spells of all kinds, and he had begun to make friends at Hogwarts... He was a charming person, at heart, and people were drawn to him when he wanted them to be. He was the smartest wizard of his year, and spent countless hours researching even more complex magic and topics in the Hogwarts Library.

Sometimes, Harry played with the squirrel again. It was easy to control it now, but he soon stopped doing it so much as the creature began to start getting worried about it. It was becoming more suspicious of him, it seemed. Still, Harry enjoyed just watching it run about, even if the creature sometimes panicked as it experienced Harry's thoughts.

It was when Harry was just about to retreat back into his own reality to go to sleep again, when the squirrel seemed to try to find him, its mental voice taking on a note of stressed curiosity and a tinge of fear...

_Who are you?_ It asked him, and he briefly wondered if he should answer it or not. It was just his imagination, even if magic was real, so it couldn't do anything to him...

So, who was he? The answer was simple though, wasn't it? He was the person he'd been for years.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle. _He answered, nice and clearly so the squirrel could understand him. He felt a spike of bafflement, then anger.

_So there _is_ someone! How did you invade my mind?! _The furious mental voice asked. _How do you know that name? No- _There was a moment of stomach-sinking realisation- _Those memories I've been experiencing! How-?_

Harry was beginning to be a little wary of the creature. It was really, really angry, and it was disturbing. He pulled away from the mind, and into his own body once again, to the overwhelming darkness of his cupboard. But something felt different, this time, as he pulled away from his link with the squirrel...

He had his answer as the same furious mental voice now occupied his own mind. He could hear the voice, as clearly as if it was speaking aloud.

"_Who are you?" _the seething voice repeated, _"I'll make you suffer if you don't comply! How did you enter my mind?"_

"_I'm Tom Riddle," _Harry replied with wary confusion. _"I'm sorry if I upset you, squirrel."_

"_You are _not _Tom Riddle!" _the voice threw back. Of course! He couldn't be Tom Riddle- the squirrel was probably Tom, wasn't it? He'd been thrown off by the 'Lord Voldemort' business.

"_I am Lord Voldemort. I am Tom Riddle. I ask you again, who are you?" _the voice seemed to be trying the patient approach, but he could tell it was just trying to worm the answers out of him faster... he'd done it many times as Tom Riddle, after all. It was a usually infallible technique.

"_Yes, I came to realise your little memory-reading tricks... How did you get past my mental barriers?" _the voice was once again demanding and furious. Harry's mind reeled; How did he know what he was thinking?

"_Don't like it so much at the receiving end, hm?" _Voldemort taunted. _"Maybe I should control _your _body for you, then? We'll see how many people I can make you kill before you're caught, shall we?" _Abruptly, Harry felt like he was losing all control of his body as it tried to jerk upwards, to stand. Fresh pain chorused through him as he tore a few badly-healed wounds, and his side screamed at him as he rolled onto it. The foreign control of his body was abruptly removed, and Voldemort reeled back at the pain.

"_What was that??" _Harry could dimly feel the wizard's thoughts trailing along the lines of some sort of mind-controlling magic protections, then simple shock as he realised it could just be the state of his body. _"Why are you so badly injured?"_

"_I'm okay." _he answered meekly. _"I'm sorry for breaking into your mind, I didn't realise you were real." _Harry was beginning to come to the conclusion that whoever Voldemort was, he had to be real because he was _here, _now. Although it could all still be his imagination... was he going mad?

Voldemort chose to ignore his thoughts. _"I'll ask you one more time! Who are you?" _Harry could feel the raw anger... it was like his uncle.

"_H-Harry James Potter, sir." _he muttered in reply, afraid of whatever Voldemort would do to him for disobeying. But he was presented with numb shock when he admitted his name.

"_How is this possible?" _Voldemort asked himself with a strange mixture of horror and wonder. The next question was asked somewhat softly; _"How old are you now, boy?"_

"_Twelve and a half years old." _he promptly replied, and then regretted it.

"_That's how far you've gotten up to in my memories? I hadn't realised anyone could take in such vast quantities of memory in such a short period of time... But no, how old are you, Harry James Potter? Not as me. How long has it been?"_

"_Er... five years old, sir." _he said, feeling confused.

"_That's all? I thought it had been longer... This is amazing... Such proficiency in the Mind Arts, at such a young age..." _the voice was suddenly sharper as it questioned, _"How is it you survived?"_

"_Survived what?"_

"_The killing curse! You should have died!" _Harry briefly remembered hearing the killing curse talked about at Hogwarts. Did that mean someone had cast the curse on him? And he'd _survived?? _That was impossible.

"_You mean, no one told you? Well, I suppose I could understand, you are too young to know about the horrors of the world, aren't you?" _there was a hint of amusement in the tone, and then suddenly the anger was back, full-blast. _"Why are you so badly hurt? You can't even move!" _Harry briefly panicked at what to tell him.

"_It's nothing. I'm fine."_

"_You are _not _fine. Where are you?"_

"_Um... my cupboard."_

"_Cupboard?" _the man repeated, incredulous. _"Why are you in a cupboard?"_

"_...I sleep here." _There was an immediate rush of blinding fury from the man. _"I'm sorry!" _he squealed, scared of the anger.

"_You _sleep _in a _cupboard?!" Voldemort repeated, snarling.

"_It's... nice here! I like it!" _he tried to change the topic as fast as he could. _"You said someone tried to kill me. Who?" _He felt a brief stab of regret from the man, before it was masked with indifference.

"_Nobody important."_

"_You're lying. You always try to cover yourself up by dismissing it if you don't want to talk about it."_

There was a pause from Voldemort. "Never _read my memories again. You've violated my mind already in the worst possible way."_

"_...You're avoiding the topic again."_

"_So are you! Why are you injured, and in a cupboard?" _he could feel the growl behind the words.

"_I sleep in the cupboard. I'm injured because I did something wrong." _his mental voice was quiet.

"_...Because you did something wrong? What did you do?" _there was a mild sense of horror behind the words.

"_...I hurt my cousin." _Harry hoped Voldemort wouldn't be as angry at him as his uncle was, but he felt a strange stab of concern from the man.

"_Then someone hurt you? Who?" _And the anger still hadn't dissipated.

"_My uncle. He was mad because I used the 'M' word."_

"_The 'M' word...? Magic?"_

"_It's not supposed to exist. I shouldn't have used it."_

"_Whatever you did... you controlled it?_"

"_I thought about what I could do when I was you. I'm sorry... I shouldn't have copied..."_

There was a rapt attentiveness in the voice; _"What did you do?"_

"_I made my cousin suffocate." _Harry couldn't quite conceal the gleam of delight he felt at that. After all the years, he'd finally retaliated! It had been immensely rewarding, but... _"I think if I had held it for any longer, he might have been really hurt." _He couldn't quite decipher his feelings about that. A part of him really wanted to see it happen, and knowing _that_ alone was frightening. He would have gotten even worse punishment if he hadn't stopped it so quickly, and he couldn't so much as imagine what would have happened to him if Dudley had died. He'd probably be in a ditch by now, if that were the case.

But Voldemort was ecstatic. _"You're five. You can control your magic? You're five!" _There was a delighted laugh. _"It shouldn't be possible- not at that age. I was the only one... No-one else could... And you're younger than I was! Even knowing how it's done, you shouldn't be able to... Your magical core surely couldn't be stable enough..."_ Harry was getting lost, so he stayed quiet as Voldemort rambled his thoughts aloud.

Voldemort's mental voice was sharp again. _"You've seen my first year. Try a spell. Lumos."_

"_Er... I don't have a wand..."_

"_Try."_

Tentatively, Harry stretched out his good arm. He could move the other, by now, but it still groaned in pain if he tried to hold it up. He looked at where he imagined his fingers to be in the darkness, and concentrated hard on what magic felt like.

"Lumos." he whispered aloud. Suddenly, the tips of his fingers were illuminated, glowing dimly. He frowned, concentrating harder, until the light flared up completely, casting the walls of his cupboard in a pale eerie light. The mental voice was delighted.

"_Amazing, amazing..." _He felt the distaste at seeing the cupboard, though. Harry tried not to look down at himself, afraid of what he would see there and how Voldemort would react to it. _"That's staggering, considering how young you are..." _Harry couldn't help but feel flushed with pride at the praise. This was the first time he, as Harry Potter, had ever received it. _"Now..." _The voice suddenly took on a strained gentleness. _"Tell me, where do you live..?"_

Harry was on his guard. _"Why do you want to know?"_

"_I'd like to meet you."_

"_Who are you, exactly? I know you're Tom Riddle-" _there was disgust from the other as he said the name. _"-and I know you're a squirrel-" _a barely suppressed snort at that. _"-but you said you were 'Lord Voldemort'? Lord of what?"_

"_The wizarding world. ...And I am not a squirrel."_

"_You are a dark lord then? Like Grindelwald?"_

"_Grindelwald couldn't hold a candle to me."_

"_I'm sure. If you're the dark lord, what happened to Grindelwald?"_

"_He was defeated by Albus Dumbledore, and left to rot in his own prison."_

"_...You were the one who tried to kill me, weren't you?" _Voldemort mentally tensed at this.

"_Smart, aren't we?"_

"_Of course I am." _Harry couldn't help but be smug. _"Why try to kill a child?"_

"_You were a threat."_

"_Evidently, if I somehow managed to survive this curse..."_

"_...And you're not scared of me now? I tried to kill you."_

"_Call it empathy." _Voldemort outright snorted at that.

"_So glad to be mind raped." _the man muttered sarcastically. Harry was puzzled.

"_What does 'rape' mean?" _The other cringed. It was easy to forget that he was talking to some five year-old version of a twelve year-old version of himself. Gods,_ that _was confusing enough.

"_It doesn't matter." _Riddle could still feel the boy's dubious reluctance to let the matter drop, so he changed the subject back into the direction he wanted it to go. _"Tell me where you live."_

"_You want me to let the man trying to kill me into my home?"_

"_Who said I was trying to kill you?"_

"_You did."_

"_No... I'm starting to rethink that. A potential like yours should not be strangled..."_

"_Why did you want to kill me?"_

"_...A prophecy." _Bloody hell, he was telling everything about himself to a five year-old...

Harry, though, was taken aback. _"A prophecy? I nearly died over some ridiculous fortune-teller? I would have thought better of an older me than to believe in such a thing- er, sorry, not me... This is confusing... Why did you act on a prophecy? You don't believe in them!"_

"_I don't like to take chances. Better being safe than sorry."_

"_But isn't this mental bond a result of the curse?"_

"_Probably. I wasn't aware of it until you had me acting like a rabid animal."_

"_Why are you in a squirrel, anyway? I wouldn't have thought it a very fitting place for a dark lord."_

There was an angry hiss. _"That's your fault, too. The curse backfired."_

"_You mean, it was _your _fault. I hardly think I've ever forced anyone to try and kill me..."_

"_Tell me where you live." _Riddle repeated, getting annoyed at the boy. Potter was being too clever for his own good.

"_You are a squirrel because...?"_

"_I lost my body when the curse backfired, but luckily I'd taken the precautions to preserve my soul in the first place. I've been animal hopping for some time now. Are you happy?"_

"_That's good enough, I suppose, but why a squirrel specifically?"_

"_This one happened to have a particularly large stash of food for winter, which I happened upon. Now that I knew where to find suitable food, surviving would be far easier." _He paused to let Harry think about this. _"And now for your end of the bargain, I believe?"_

There was a great deal of reluctance as the young boy replied, but Voldemort could only be pleased at finally receiving the address. _"Number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Why did you want to know, anyway?"_

* * *

**A/N: **Like it so far?

I wouldn't normally have posted this without trying to finish off more of it first (I am trying to overcome commitment issues), but I thought I may as well try my hand at live writing on this one. So I haven't finished writing chapter two yet. Please be nice if you review, or it really will scare me off of writing the rest of it. (This happens to me easily, unfortunately.)

Please review with any questions you can think of pertaining to the story, no matter whether you think they're going to be answered or not, as it helps me keep on track and _should _prevent gaping plot holes.

If you spot any spelling (or grammar) mistakes in the text, _tell me straight away! _There shouldn't be any, considering that I spend ninety percent of the time on my writing simply reading through.

-Brackets


	2. Diving

Identity

* * *

_Identity- Chapter Two_

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter in any form or way. I make no money from writing this fanfiction.

**Summary:** Harry, from a young age, had always been locked away. A child's mind in isolation turns only to itself, and what Harry discovers there is a bond neither he nor Voldemort had known to exist. Entering the mind of the man who had made the world quail, he begins to draw upon the Dark Lord's memories, and starts to emerge as something quite new altogether...

**Includes:** Dark!Harry, Voldemort and Harry friendship, prodigy!Harry, this chapter earns the T rating.

**Genre:** General / Friendship

**Word Count:** ~3,400 / ~4,000

**Cumulative Word Count:** ~10,100 / ~11,000

**Date: **Started- 28th March, '09

Finished- 30th March, '09 (23:26)

Posted- 31st March, '09

**Chapter Title: **Diving

* * *

Harry had been let out of the cupboard _much _earlier than he had expected. The flimsy wooden door had quivered as it was yanked open, and the next thing he had seen was the scowling, disdainful face of his aunt.

The woman wrinkled her nose at him. "Boy," Her cold eyes flickered over his 'bedroom', taking in the pitiful state of it, before turning to him once more. "Your uncle has important guests coming over, so clean yourself up."

And he had done so, tearing away from the cupboard as fast as possible. He hadn't been allowed into the kitchen until he'd finished his bath – Petunia looked as if she wanted him to have several – but he was soon found at the sink gulping down water. He'd gotten away with raiding the fridge purely because Petunia was occupied with cleaning his cupboard. He could say that he didn't envy her the job.

The overpowering stench of cleaning agents had permeated the air by the time he was back in his cupboard, and that night he listened to the sounds of the 'important guests' being greeted and fed. He was still sore from his punishment, and had to limp a little, but at least now he could move about freely.

With food in his deprived stomach, a new set of clothes, and mostly healed injuries, his mood was vastly improved. This was the disposition he greeted Voldemort with as he got bored of the guests that night.

When he pushed through their mind link this time, things were different. Gone were the towering bushes and the sea of leaves he'd had to practically wade through before: Now, his red paws moved gracefully over the moist ground, and his tail swung low enough to scrape the leaves. The trees were getting sparser, from what he could see.

He alerted his presence to the Dark Lord cheerfully. _"This is the fox that you've been complaining about, then?"_

The fox leapt violently at the sound of his mental inquiry, which left Harry laughing breathlessly at the disgruntled Voldemort. _"The bane of my life." _Voldemort acquiesced. There was a pause as the fox started moving again. _"How is it you are able to enter my mind so silently? I hardly noticed you last time."_

Harry tried to think on this for a second. _"Is it the mind link?"_

A non-committal _"Probably." _was his reply, and the two lapsed into silence. Harry could feel a buzz of thoughts coming from the older man, and even though he concentrated on these muffled thought processes, he was at a loss for what Voldemort could be thinking about with such attention. Eventually, he got bored of silence. (1)

"_Why are you a fox now? What happened to the squirrel?"_

There was a feeling of malicious amusement from the older man, and Harry could picture a smirking Tom Riddle perfectly. _"I ate the squirrel."_

Harry blanched. _"What?? You ate yourself?"_

"_Mm. Delicious."_

"_Why?"_

"_Today apparently was the day the fox finally got me. Before the squirrel died, I latched onto the mind of the fox. Convenient timing, at least: I can cover more ground this way."_

Instead of asking why Voldemort needed to cover ground, Harry managed to come to the best conclusion. _"You're coming to see me?" _He felt a twinge of excitement at that, and happiness: there had never been anyone who had cared about him before. Not even in Hogwarts. Sure, he knew Voldemort had ulterior motives, but the thought of being visited could only instil a thrilling feeling of acceptance.

"_It's inconvenient trying to find Surrey with various animal bodies, but yes. I was planning to locate a few followers of mine before you came along, but that would have taken a long time considering that I could not speak."_

"_Can't you take over humans?"_

"_I can, but I need a willing participant if I want to stay there long enough. It's ridiculously easy to throw a foreign mind out of one's own if it has no corporeal body."_

"_It's not like Imperious, then?"_

"_No- not at all. With Imperious, the caster asserts their will over the subject without actually controlling their mind personally. The body of the user is used as an anchor for the magic, and the fact that magic is used at all gives the caster the advantage. The subject has to fight the curse off by will alone, which is why it is so much easier to cast than to break._

"_Possessing creatures is not magical – although my sustainment of this form is, and my lack of body is what allows me to posses so fluently – so it boils down to will. While I can safely say that I'm one of the best at that, having no body makes the task a lot harder. You've heard of the concept of body, mind, and soul, yes?"_

"_Er-"_

"_As it is, I am incomplete. My soul is tied into a corporeal object that keeps me alive, like a body, but unable to act as one. My body has been destroyed rather spectacularly – thanks to you – so I am essentially just a mind anchored to life by my soul. Incomplete. This makes me a lot more unstable; less powerful, although a weaker wizard in my place probably wouldn't be able to posses even the squirrel." _There was a strong feeling of disdain in the last sentence, and Harry smiled at how Tom hadn't changed.

"_You can take over the animals easily, then?"_

"_Sometimes they put up quite a fight, and I can't stay in their form for very long. Usually, the bigger the animal is, the harder it is to control. The squirrel was easy, but this fox is giving me a bit of hassle... it's asleep currently, but when it awakes I have to put a lot more effort into maintaining my control."_

"_Couldn't you... damage its mind, or something?"_

"_I can't do magic. Even if I could, I wouldn't want to create a trail of brain-dead animals, now, would I?"_

His mental voice held a sheepish tone as he replied. _"Oh. I suppose not..."_

Harry then took a moment to concentrate on where the fox was, through its eyes. The trees had thinned considerably by now, and they crossed a beaten path bereft of trees- a man-made path. It was then Harry wondered just how close to civilisation they were.

"_Why are you coming?" _he asked suddenly.

"_Why, to see my favourite mind invader, of course! What else?" _Voldemort said, but Harry frowned.

"_You still consider me a threat."_

The pause before the answer was telling. _"...Not any more."_

"_What did the prophecy say? What was so bad that the Dark Lord himself went to murder __a baby?" _Was it righteous indignation that called his frustration, or was it... betrayal? Voldemort was, in a way... himself.

"_It stated that you would be the one to 'vanquish' me. I didn't hear all of it."_

"_'Vanquish' you?"_

"_The exact phrasing was... '__The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.' You can see why I didn't want to take any chances."_

"_And you're sure this is me? It could have been any old baby."_

"_There was only one other child that fit the criteria. I sent followers to dispatch that child, but you seemed the more likely subject."_

"_Why?"_

"_You were more like me."_

Harry frowned at Voldemort's lack of argument to his questions. The man was simply trying to placate him, right? And it was working. _"_If _this prophecy is true, then-" _He stressed the 'if' accordingly. _"-It still doesn't necessarily mean I am a threat to you."_

"_No." _the other conceded. _"And that's why I am coming to visit. Satisfied?"_

He gave a muttered word of assent before feeling a little silly about feeling so concerned. He could feel Voldemort's thoughts through the link, after all, even if they weren't as clear as the projected thoughts they were conversing with. If the man was hosting schemes and negative feelings towards him, he would have picked it up, right? He could only hope so.

"_So, what did you do after Hogwarts?" _he asked when the thought came to him.

"_Became a dark lord."_

Voldemort laughed at his own answer, and Harry sent him the feelings of exasperation similar to a rolling of the eyes through their link.

"_No, seriously... you can't just be a dark lord overnight! What did you do?"_

"_Travelled a bit. Isn't it getting a bit late to be bothering me?"_

"_Er. No?"_

"_Can't have insomniac children now, can we? Go to bed."_

"_But-"_

"_Night night, Harry."_

"_Oh, fine." _he huffed. This was the last thing he said before retreating from the other's mind and falling into an excited sleep. The spiders bristled around him as he slept.

* * *

The next day saw a cheerful Harry being let out of his cupboard. His daily routine went much the same way as it had before his incident with the M-word, although his uncle reddened a little whenever he was in sight, and his aunt was, if anything, more distant.

Still though, it was like nothing had ever happened. Dudley was blissfully ignorant of anything wrong, at least, laughing at a bruise that hadn't yet gone away as Harry cooked breakfast, or teasing him when he was doing a chore.

It was nice to be back in routine.

The days elapsed into weeks gradually, and while Dudley excitedly told stories to his parents of his first year of school, where they got to play in the sand-pit and colour in pictures with all the accuracy of a meteor colliding with the page (he'd brought one home and had stuck it on the fridge), Harry listened almost every night to Voldemort's tales of magic and another world he'd have never have dreamt of if he hadn't stumbled across Voldemort's mind.

The man frequently swapped animals these days, and he was often a bird of some kind. The scenery had changed drastically, and now tended to consist of suburban parks or open hills. He had apparently occupied remoter regions of the Forest of Dean as that initial squirrel, and so was quite a long way away from Privet Drive.

Harry had asked him one night, _"How are you going to regain your body?"_

And Voldemort had replied in his normal long-winded way. _"There are several dark rituals I could use to gain a new body... All I essentially need to do is find a corpse and tie my mind and soul to it – which I'll have to use external help for, which is why I need to find my followers – and the body should naturally attempt to revert to something like my original image. That's why I need to swap animals so much, coincidentally."_

"_What? Really? You mean all the animals start to turn into you?"_

There was amusement from the dark lord. _"Mm. After a while, they start to grow my features, although they'd never manage to 'turn into' me as such. The longer I spend in an animal, the more distorted it gets. And so now that I am spending more time among humans, I sadly must spend less time as flesh-coloured birds."_

"_Does that happen to humans too?"_

"_It's worse in humans. More in common, so it's quicker and is probably more extensive. I haven't had a large range of human hosts, though, so it is hard to say."_

"_And after you're gone..."_

"_Don't worry, the deformities do not remain, although they do scar, I think..."_

"_Ew."_

And the other had laughed.

* * *

It was Friday when it all started to go downhill again. He perhaps should have known that any streak of happiness on his part could not last long.

On Friday, his uncle had come back from work _seething. _He'd been up for a promotion (hence the visitors that frequented their house) but in the end the chair had been given to another man, one with relatively little experience on the job. Vernon had – and perhaps rightfully so – felt ousted by the predicament. He had yelled at Harry for simply being there, but that wasn't what had made the day plummet into the metaphorical abyss of doom.

He had yelled at Petunia.

And Harry had watched, stricken, as the woman sat down and sobbed quietly after Vernon had left. It had been disturbing, to see one of the figures who had presented such an iron rule over him be in such a vulnerable state. He didn't like his aunt, but she was family, right? Perhaps if he made more of an effort to understand them, they would do likewise. He hadn't made any attempt to communicate, after all- the most he'd ever contribute would be an 'mm', but he was mostly justified in thinking that the Dursleys didn't want him talking. This time, though, he'd reach out to his cold aunt.

He emerged from the shadows as quietly as he could, and moved closer to the woman, whose head was buried in her hands. Her thin frame shook a little as she sobbed.

When he was close enough, he leant towards her and spoke in a soft whisper. His voice was a little rough from disuse, but still good enough. Certainly better than the average five year-old's speech, at least.

"He doesn't mean it. You know that." Petunia flinched violently at his words. Her head whipped up to fix a sharp stare on him, eyes still rimmed with red. "So don't be upset."

"Boy-" Her mouth was left open after she said this, as if she were struggling for words. She finally settled on a few sentences that made Harry's stomach sink. "Why are you talking? You never talk. Don't start now, you freak!" And there was something in her eyes... fear? She didn't want him to talk because she was afraid of him?

And so Harry's eyes narrowed. "I am simply trying to help. Vernon will realise his mistakes, given time."

Her eyes had widened further, and she edged back in the seat, away from him. "Don't talk like that, Freak! You think I don't see your eyes on us, _watching_ all the time? You are unnatural! Why can't you be like Dudley – enthralled over toys and sweets? You always _stare _with that calculating look about you- you are no child. An abomination!"

He recoiled from her at her words. "I don't mean to-"

"_Shut up!" _And then suddenly his aunt was up, and he was knocked to the floor, cheek stinging from the powerful slap and head dully pounding from where it had collided with the floor. He clutched a hand to the side of his face, scowling up at his aunt from the floor.

"Why am I not interested in toys and sweets and games like your Dudley?" he spat, beginning to pick himself up, but falling back to the floor when his vision suddenly turned a pale blue and his head spun. Petunia's eyes were wide: perhaps he was bleeding from where he'd hit the ground...

"Perhaps it has something to do with how I am never allowed them? A cupboard for a bedroom? What a normal child you have raised! If you'd have wanted me to be normal, I would be one of the family. You would have never had to worry about magic and 'freakishness' if you had loved me!"

Petunia inhaled sharply. "You knew..." Her face was pale, until she grew angry. "You always knew! You monster! Even as we fed you, clothed you... You were plotting and scheming with your _witchcraft! _Freak!"

Harry attempted to rise off the floor once again and this time had more success. His feet slipped on the ground but he did not lose his balance. His head pounded with every movement, and something wet and warm seeped down the side of his face...

He raised a hand to the warm patch and his eyes widened as the fingers were pulled away, blooming red and slowly dripping the thick liquid onto his palm... His eyes shot back to Petunia's. "You..." was all he could say beyond his fury, and the eyes were ripped back to the blood. His breathing was shallow, harsh. _"You!"_

He screamed in frustration and fury and rage as he looked back at her, and suddenly she was tearing at her own throat, eyes rolled upwards and flailing wildly. His arm was outstretched and the fist was slowly clenching... she was screaming, screaming so _loudly, _and blood ran down her throat from her own efforts...

A euphoric feeling sank into his skin as he watched his aunt writhe like a slug in salt, and as her screams increased in volume his lips were drawn upwards into a malicious grin. He watched the worm writhe and it was _oh so _elating – he would make her _suffer-_

And suddenly he was on the floor again, curled up in pain, gasping, clutching at the back of his head. Black spots erupted and faded in his vision, and he could barely make out the form of his aunt buckling as his influence was removed, sliding to the floor like a falling piece of paper. A large figure caught her descent. Vernon.

His face was purple. He was shouting something desperately at his wife as he shook her, as if it would do something. The world faded into black and then came back with greater clarity, then faded again. Harry could dimly make out Dudley, cowering in a corner. He wondered how long the boy had been there, watching his mother scream.

He sank away from his body...

"_Harry!"_

"_Hm..."_

"_What happened? What's happening?"_

Was that Voldemort's voice? He smiled a little. The blackness was close. It was tempting, but Harry decided to favour Voldemort over unconsciousness.

"_Muggle... issues." _He slurred the words even in his own thoughts, struggling to get them to fit together. Almost unconsciously he pushed into Voldemort's mind, and was presented with an aerial view of streets that looked oddly familiar.

"_Which one?" _he was asked, and Harry frowned mentally at the rows of houses.

"_Fourth...?" _The bird was already flying down to the houses, closer, closer, closer... Suddenly the two were looking at what had been Harry's home and living hell for four years. _"That one. Kitchen window." _he indicated, and the bird was inside. So easy.

"_Where are you?" _he was asked, and he could come up with no reply. Where had he been? Had he ever been anywhere? The bird found the lounge.

It was an oddly disorientating scene of carnage. At the far left of the room was the five year-old Dudley, stockily built with blonde hair that did not suit him, cowering in the corner. His wide eyes were trained on the prone form of his mother, and he was trembling wildly.

Vernon was hunched over Petunia, a discarded saucepan lying to his side: Harry realised that this was probably what the man had hit him with earlier. Petunia was unmoving, blood trickling down her neck from the self-inflicted wounds, and her throat was beginning to purple as if it had been heavily bruised. Vernon was sobbing by her side.

And then there was him. Harry reeled in shock at the sight of himself. He was tiny, even compared to Dudley, and his skin was pallid from a lack of sunlight. He was curled up into the foetal position tightly, a limp mass on the floor. Blood had soaked through into the beige carpet around him, a blossoming flower against his head.

Voldemort took in the surroundings, and Harry felt his disgust.

"_May I introduce you to my family?" _he said, and laughed at his own words.

* * *

**Notes:**

**(1)- **When I started writing this paragraph, my clock read '00:04'. After 'five minutes' deciding what to put in the paragraph, it read '02:13'. I had a real 'what the _hell'_ factor there for a while.

**General Notes:**

I've been absolutely bowled over by the support this story has received so far. I hadn't counted on it inspiring me to write quite as much as it did. Unfortunately, I really, really hate this chapter, but I hope you all are less picky than I am and can enjoy it.

Um. If people don't like it I'll do it again, I guess...

-Brackets

P.S. A thing to comment on would be the action. Has anyone else noticed that the Dursleys' dialogue is really hard to write believably? Well, it is.

Oh, and, it'll get better from next chapter onwards. More things will happen, and we'll begin to see Harry's development.


	3. Moving

Identity

* * *

_Identity- Chapter Three_

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter in any form or way. I make no money from writing this fanfiction.

**Summary:** Harry, from a young age, had always been locked away. A child's mind in isolation turns only to itself, and what Harry discovers there is a bond neither he nor Voldemort had known to exist. Entering the mind of the man who had made the world quail, he begins to draw upon the Dark Lord's memories, and starts to emerge as something quite new altogether...

**Includes:** Dark!Harry, Voldemort and Harry friendship, prodigy!Harry, mind arts, a view into Vernon's character... Does anyone read this? I'll bet 'no'. Include the keyword 'Rubber Duck' in a review to show that you're a reader like me! Points for how well you can get it to fit in with the rest inconspicuously. (I mean it. I'll tally it up.)

**Genre:** General / Friendship

**Word Count:** ~4,000

**Cumulative Word Count:** ~14,500

**Date: **Started- 4th April '09, (12:11 PM)

Finished- 7th April '09, (02:29 AM)

Posted- 7th April '09 (Circa de 03:00 AM)

**Chapter Title:** Moving

* * *

For a moment, everything was still.

Harry stared avidly at his unconscious body from Voldemort's eyes. It was strange to see one's own body outside of it, like looking into a mirror that was somehow behind the reflection. He felt detached. It was surreal.

"_You're concussed," _Voldemort commented with an impatient edge. _"Snap out of it."_

"_...What are you going to do?"_

The bird's eyes flickered back to his uncle. _"I can't do magic, so not much. If I can control that fat muggle for long enough, however, then we can probably get you to safety."_

Vernon, still sobbing, had pulled his wife up into a desperate embrace. She hung limply against him, head tilted at an awkward angle, and her hands dangled across the carpeted floor as if she were some broken doll.

Harry wanted to look away. _"...Is she dead?"_

There was a grating silence before the response. _"It looks to be the case."_

"_I..." _He took in the scene: Vernon was distraught. Dudley was terrified. Petunia was _dead. _And it was all because of him._ "I lost my temper."_

"_Take it in stride. It's a solution."_

"_I could, but... I _killed _her. How can I just ignore that?"_

"_You can't change what has already passed. Still, though, I believe this does solve a few problems."_

"_How can you be so heartless?"_

Voldemort did not reply, at first, and the bird leapt off its temporary perch with a flourish of feathers. The broken figure of Vernon Dudley grew closer as they flew towards him.

"_It is necessary."_

Hearing the flutter of wings, a heartbeat before they would reach him, the large man looked up. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and rimmed with a grieving red. He flinched back as the bird drove into him.

Then came a split second of heart-wrenching agony as Voldemort ripped his mind away from the bird, and Harry's intertwined mind was dislocated along with it. The world blurred and was suddenly torn away- Harry had only a brief second to take in the pool of darkness he now perceived where the sense of his eyes was supposed to go.

He saw... no, _felt..._ a blotch of light smeared against the darkness. Vernon's light. The two tangled minds together slipped into this golden core, and the world flooded into being once again. Vernon opened his eyes.

This was not like the mammals nor the birds Harry had seen Voldemort possess. Vernon's mind was close, too close... it leaked off despair, panic, and shock as Voldemort's mind smothered it. It fought back; It was as roaring and as angry as the man himself, and it _raged _against the grip.

Voldemort dispassionately forced the man to push his wife's limp corpse off of himself, and she fell to the floor with a dull thud, head bouncing as it hit the carpet. It was at this that Vernon's horror and panic spiked. The will behind the struggle was overwhelming, and Harry watched as Voldemort was pushed away with the force of it.

"No..." Vernon breathed aloud, and Voldemort pushed back, furious at having lost his grip over the man so soon. Harry couldn't say who was controlling the body of his uncle as his hands flew up to tear at his face. "No- no, no, no, no-"

Voldemort's push went in his favour, and Vernon haltingly levered himself away from the floor. Then suddenly Vernon pushed back and his body took a step backwards again, away from where Harry's lithe body lay in its crumpled heap.

"Stop-"

Voldemort and Vernon's minds fought for dominance. Vernon had the advantage... this was Vernon's body, after all, while Voldemort was just a spirit, an intruder. Still, Voldemort fought furiously. He did have a lot of will, Harry would give him that.

"Stop this-"

And for a moment, the Dark Lord was winning. Vernon choked and writhed and suffocated under his dominance, and the Dark Lord held him down, triumphant...

"Stop this-"

But it was a tentative arrangement. Vernon had the upper hand, and Harry's uncle was by no means a pushover. The flow of the battle turned towards the man as he pushed the foreign mind away from him.

"Stop-" he gasped again, and Harry became aware of the ragged breathing of the body. That was interesting: Did this struggle present a physical exertion of some sort, or was it simply Vernon's heartbeat responding to the panic and adrenalin of the mental battle?

Harry, perhaps instinctively, pushed himself closer towards Vernon's mind as he thought about this, disentangling his mind from Voldemort's a little more. Now he was faced with this struggle in Vernon's point of view: There was panic there. Overwhelming panic. And fear. There was the lingering thought that Harry was the one behind the man's affliction, too, which caused Harry a little amusement while Vernon was horrified. He supposed that it _was _his fault, in the end.

"_Uncle," _he whispered into the depths of the man's mind. _"Uncle, give up."_

The muggle mentally blanched as he said this, and the mental battle swerved to Voldemort's favour when Vernon faltered. The body took two steps forward.

Vernon fought back, with determination born of desperation and fear. The body staggered.

And Harry wormed into Vernon's mind _deeper. _He paid the battle no mind.

_What's happening? What's happening to me?_

Shh, now.

_Why can't I move? Why? What's happening to me?_

Shut up.

_I don't understand- I don't-_

Be quiet!

Harry dug deeper. He slid under these layers of instinctual thoughts and slid into the man's memories. Compressed years moved before his eyes; years of stress and worry to turn Vernon into the man he was. When he was very young he'd been picked on for his size. When he was older he'd used his size to his advantage, and became the bully that everyone detested. It was a lonely existence... Vernon hated himself... he still did, in many ways...

He had alienated himself. He'd always regretted that.

He hadn't gone to college. He'd always regretted that.

He'd stubbornly stayed in a failing business. He'd always regretted that.

He'd met and married Petunia. At the start, she'd been the light of his life... the only one to accept his failings completely. He'd rushed into the relationship too fast; didn't stop to see how petty the woman was, how much he would come to _hate _her, yet still need her at the same time. He would come to fear the day she would finally realise how much better off she was without him...

He'd always regretted that.

And he knew that she had known it, but... they each only had each other. Both failures. Both miserable. They hated each other yet loved each other beyond words...

Harry pulled himself away from the memories, disgusted at how he was coming to emphasise with his uncle. He didn't _want _to drown in the regrets and sorrows of a pathetic muggle... he was stronger than that.

And as he dived deeper, he came closer to the core that w_as _Vernon. He'd seen it before; in the darkness between the bird and the man. The golden core glowed brightly, and flickered like an angrily burning flame, tendrils of molten fire flickering and twisting within itself. It was... beautiful.

Was this the man's soul?

It was so unlike him that Harry could have laughed.

The wild flickering suddenly ceased, and it was as if a smothering blanket had been lifted as the dark pressure relented. A wave of relief so pure that it strung at Harry's being like the chords of a harp washed over him. Was that... Voldemort?

Voldemort had lost. Harry scowled.

The core was vast, and yet... not. It was small in the way a large object is small in the background, and yet when Harry stretched out a hand to the flame, he dwarfed it completely. It was a feeling similar to how, with one eye closed, a person can pick up a large object by hovering their hand over it. Only... when the person moves to lift the object, their hand simply comes away and the illusion is ruined.

When Harry moved to snuff the flame with his fingers, it went out.

Vernon's mind _screamed_. The soul flickered out of existence with a soft hiss that did not reflect the death of the man in any fitting way. What would have been fitting would be a brilliant flash of light, and a bright explosion as the soul shrieked and crumpled in upon itself, twisting and writhing in agony...

The only screaming was from the mind, and Harry could still hear those questions – _why, how, why – _as the mind was pulled into oblivion along with the soul.

_What's happening to me?_

And he felt sick. This was death.

_What's happening to me?_

Death.

_What's-_

Silence.

Harry pulled himself away from the empty space where Vernon's core had once resided. The space where those defining memories had once gone was empty. The space of a mind's basic thoughts was silent. The space of the more in-depth, mundane memories... a vast emptiness, sucking at the nothingness as if it could find something there. A yawning vacuum. He emerged back on the surface, and took control of the living corpse.

Vernon opened his eyes. The man had crumpled to the floor beside his wife, and so he picked the large body off the ground, gingerly feeling every sore patch from the fall.

He levered himself into a sitting position and inspected his meaty hands, a little dazed. He looked up. Dudley was staring at him intently, a rapt expression gracing the young boy's face, so unlike the terrified horror the boy had worn previously. The boy had seen his mother choke to death, his cousin bleed on the floor and his father falter and stumble like a madman. The sharp look in the boy's eyes was out of place.

The two both regarded each other for a few long, drawn out seconds. Harry frowned.

"Voldemort?" He guessed, deep voice unfamiliar in his throat. The boy nodded, and the thin blond hair of the five year old flopped over his face a little.

"The boy is much easier to control. But... what did you do? He was _screaming._" The high-pitched voice of Dudley was beyond odd when applied to Voldemort's serious tone. The man seemed to be modelling his words carefully so as to not slip into the five year-old's natural slur of words.

Harry winced at the mention of how it had affected Vernon. "I crept into his mind. I went further than you did. Deeper."

Dudley's – Voldemort's – eyes were wide. "'Went further'? How?"

"Well," He frowned, which was a natural look on Vernon's features. "You were only attacking from the surface. I just... pushed in. Like I did with you."

The blonde five year old frowned in reply. "I believed your proficiency at infiltrating my mind was to do with our mental connection... perhaps it goes further than that? Describe the mind as you see it."

"Well, beyond the external thoughts is the control of the body." Voldemort nodded to show that he knew this. "Beyond that is memories; all of them, in as much detail as the mind can hold. That's how deep I went into your mind, you remember." The Dark Lord in Dudley's form scowled at this mention of his weakness, but nodded again.

Harry continued. "And beyond that is the area of the basic instinctual thoughts. Not things like 'breathe' – I don't think those controls are tied in with the soul – but thoughts like 'I'm scared', 'I'm confused'... maybe moods?

"Next, closest to the core as far as I can see are the sort of 'defining memories', I think... lingering feelings and thoughts that compose and dictate who the person is. Vernon's were things like being alone and largely friendless during his teen years and his marriage with Petunia... I get the impression that the two were only together because they didn't want to be completely alone..."

Harry looked down as he related this to Voldemort. It sounded so pathetic in summary. Voldemort couldn't _begin_ appreciate the emotions behind the memories, but Harry could; there was overbearing pain and frightening sorrow. So much regret... it had made him realise that Vernon was a human after all, not just some anonymous bogey-man who existed to torture him.

What was the price of a life?

He'd snuffed it out with so much ease...

"Beyond that is the core. You've seen the core, haven't you? It's the glowing golden light you can sense when you have no body whatsoever." Voldemort gave him a startled look.

"You can _reach _that? By possession? I thought it was the soul?"

"Er... Isn't it?"

Voldemort gave him the look reserved for people who were spouting nonsense. "There are many theories about the soul, but they tend to agree that it is something immortal. Something that changes and yet does not. Something untouchable. If it could be _reached... _I don't even know the implications that could hold. It could give the possessor immense power over the subject. Perhaps it is possible to alter the soul? Can you control someone so thoroughly it _becomes _their own will? See, think of all the things it would mean..."

Harry grimaced. "Vernon is dead. I put out the flame."

Dudley's eyes widened significantly. "You _what?_" He seemed flabbergasted for a few seconds, and then suddenly adopted a gleeful look. The corners of the boy's mouth stretched in a way that indicated he was trying not to grin, and his eyes gained an excited gleam to them. "How did you do it? What did it do to the mind?"

"I don't really know... I just snuffed it out like a candle. It was easy. Pathetically easy." Harry bit his lip, and felt disgusted when he was reminded that it wasn't _his _lip. "The mind was ripped away as the soul was. They seem to be too closely tied together for one to exist without the other. Vernon is... completely gone."

It wasn't easy to forget that Voldemort was sitting next to him when Dudley's eyes gleamed with such malicious emotion. "This is amazing! The things we could achieve with this..."

"I'm not ever going to do it again." he deadpanned. Dudley's face dropped.

"Why not?" he demanded, high pitched voice going up an octave. "Do you have any idea what you could do with such a skill?"

"I do."

Dudley scowled. "And I suppose you're going to say that that's exactly why you're not going to use it..."

Harry smiled faintly at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord continued. "Well, no matter..." An eye was trained on him as if he'd escape if he wasn't being watched. "You'll learn the necessity to seek power eventually..."

Harry just rolled his eyes at him. "So what are we going to do now?"

Dudley glanced over to where the other's original body lay. The pool of blood under his head had stopped fanning out by now, but the body looked like death had rolled over twice. "I would check if you are still alive, first."

Harry paled. It hadn't quite occurred to him that he could possibly die and not even know about it in his state. He stumbled over to his body awkwardly, and pressed two fingers to the skin to find the pulse.

Relief washed over him as he found the beats, and he turned back to Voldemort who hadn't moved from his position on the other side of the room.

"Er." Harry said, uncomfortable at talking with so much distance between them. "I'm alive."

Dudley nodded, still not otherwise moving. "I'm not sure you would be able to survive without a functioning body anyway. I am only surviving in this state because my soul is anchored down to a corporeal object... If your body died, I suspect your mind and soul would fail with it."

"Do you think that if I stopped controlling Vernon's body, it would die?"

Dudley looked thoughtful for a second. It was hard not to stare; He had _never _seen the five year-old look thoughtful. "It's probable. Although, bodies without functioning minds can often continue to survive..." Dudley's shoulders were brought up in a slight shrug. "I suppose we'll see eventually."

Harry carefully scooped up his body from the floor, noting how light it was to Vernon's more powerful arms. He tried not to look at the blood as he settled it into a more comfortable holding position within his arms, carefully cradling it like one would a newborn baby.

He took a step towards Voldemort, and watched with curiosity as the possessed body flinched and took a step back. Raising an eyebrow, he took another step forward. Dudley's body took another step back.

He stopped moving, eyebrow still raised. "...What are you doing?"

Dudley's eyes were trained on the body cradled in Vernon's arms even as he replied. "I seem to get... a headache... whenever I'm too close to your original body. I tried to check its pulse before, and couldn't get within a metre." The Dark Lord scowled dangerously. "My best guess is that it has something to do with the bond, which would mean that it isn't simply restricted to being a mental bond. That we seem to suffer no ill effects talking at a close distance when you are not in your body is interesting. The killing curse may have created some physical link that enabled the mental link to emerge due to the relationship between the three states of being. Or perhaps the physical link is due to the mental link? But that would probably mean that you in your uncle's body would create the same effects..." The scowl didn't disappear. "This is getting confusing." the Dark Lord admitted, with some reluctance.

Harry laughed. "'_Getting _confusing?' You're my son, if you hadn't noticed."

Voldemort smirked. "Well father, it appears I am sixty years older than you..."

"And I'm not even _sure_ how I managed to father a squirrel..."

"Well, the squirrel tried to kill its father when the man was a baby. I'm not sure how that happened either."

There was silence for a moment. Then suddenly Harry laughed, and Dudley's face pulled the most smug expression Harry had ever seen on a child. "Okay," he acceded. "You win."

"Of course I do," Voldemort practically purred. Then the subject was changed entirely. "Do you know where the muggle keeps his muggle money? I have a feeling we'll need it."

Harry considered the heavy jacket the man often wore, and nodded; Vernon tended to keep his wallet in his coat pockets. "Where will we be going?"

"We need to try and find some of my followers. Before that, though, I suggest we head to a house I own, east of here. Well, I don't _own_ it as such... It's been largely abandoned for years now, but... it used to belong in the family."

Harry nodded, complacent with the explanation: Voldemort had only found out about his heritage when he was sixteen, after all, so it hadn't raised the question of his muggle links to the younger boy.

"How will we get there?" Harry asked, shifting the body in his arms around slightly as he spoke.

"Bus." Voldemort replied promptly, and his gaze then flickered down to the Harry Potter laying limp in Vernon's arms. "...Bring a suitcase."

* * *

**A/N:**

Hey guys! Sorry about the last author's note; I was feeling a bit depressed when I posted it. (happens a lot)

Anyway, I hope this chapter is up to par. There's been a lot of theory introduced here, so I hope it's presented fluently and is easy to understand. It will all continue to be relevant in the future, too, so I hope it was enjoyed...

-Brackets

P.S.- There's only one person who will know what the deal with the suitcase line is right now. I hope I made that person laugh. Le plús, I've been having great fun corresponding with a few people. Some are anonymous.

Oh, and Tamsin? Stop reading this!


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